


Obsolescence

by doublejoint



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 02:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20481176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: It feels like he’s sitting in an airlock, unsure of how he’d gotten there, of which door is which, and which is about to open.





	Obsolescence

The meeting ends and the hologram shuts off, a blue face to a blue line to nothing. Hux stares beyond it, for a second, wasting time, lets his face fall to rest against his fingers so his arm props his head up. Disgusting, even if there weren’t security cameras whose footage no one, perhaps even droids, will ever watch. He has half a standard hour before the next meeting, dwindling time to organize words on his datapad and rearrange information in files, synthesize the last meeting’s contents for his briefing with the Supreme Leader later.

He has barely been on the bridge the past few weeks, and not as much as he’d like in a long time--not that he’s commanding when he is. The commander is the highest-ranking officer on board, and that is the Supreme Leader. Ren has not rebuilt the  _ Supremacy  _ or shown any indication of doing so, or even moving to another ship; he seems content with the  _ Finalizer _ as a flagship. On this ship, where soldiers and officers have at least pretended to respect Hux, where they have answered to him, Hux has been kicked down a rung, clearly answering to Ren, a commander who leads from the front lines more than Snoke ever did or ever would have wanted to, and thus has even less to do with the administrative duties. They all land in Hux’s lap, paperwork and budget and signing off on usage, meetings and communications, as if he’s buried under a virtual avalanche, not quite fallen into a trap but had the trap build up around him.

It should be an honor to be the liaison between Ren and all of his other immediate inferiors. The chance to do the same for Snoke would have been something Hux relished, a chance to gauge the rest of his competition, to take more risks and plant the blame, to find anyone ruthless enough to worry about, and to wave his high position in everyone’s faces. They could despise and disrespect him all they want--they still can, but being Ren’s mouthpiece is different from being Snoke’s, especially when they all know it’s because Ren doesn’t have or care to gain the requisite structural knowledge to do this himself, and trusts the things pinning Hux into place to make sure Hux takes care of it. 

And he does; he gets through the next meeting, another useless conversation with General Risohn where she offers little of value, only her sneering hologram face and empty words. If Snoke were still in charge, no one would tell Hux, to his face and on the record, that they wonder why he’s being kept around. It would be phrased differently (if they said it all), and perhaps a touch below the surface, theories as to why Snoke plays favorites with him, sideways hints. If Hux held these controls in his hands, if he were acting as a go-between for Snoke, well, Hux’s mouth to Snoke’s ear, Hux’s pin of blame piercing their struggling bodies and holding them down, would make them back away.

These hypotheticals are more of a waste than this meeting. They are not, real, and Risohn’s sneer curls like smoke from an explosion.

“I do wonder why the Supreme Leader lets you stay around.”

“I could say the same of you,” Hux says.

Risohn ends the call. Nothing to report, no real business to add. That’s to be expected; she generally has little of value to share (Hux’s remark had not been a simple combat; it had been pure truth). He smiles at the ghost of her face imprinted on his eyes, his mouth stretching wide as if he’s speaking the expression with an accent. It is not natural to him, but it is appropriate here. At least she’d gotten her verbal jabs in.

* * *

Her remark remains in Hux’s head, passing through his thoughts, a ribbon-thin slither cutting between personnel files and the usual peace that comes with standing on the bridge. Why does Ren keep him around? Obviously, Hux provides things that Ren can’t for himself, his organizational knowledge, the motivation to keep things running smoothly and the attention to detail that keeps all arms of the Order moving towards a common goal. Companionship. Familiarity, even (and Ren’s too caught up in the past, his own and the Galaxy’s, for familiarity to be unimportant to him). 

For now, for the immediate future, that’s why he’s here--but what of the long term? It had been easy to see himself as the long arm of Snoke’s law, crushing insurrection, maintaining the military, if and when Snoke’s First Order would finally take over the galaxy. Yet, what are Ren’s plans? It’s as if he’d shut off the autopilot, ditched the plotted course, and had spun the ship in random circles before plunging into Hyperspace where only he knows the direction. 

Hux is good at preventing, undermining, shedding his own obsolescence. He’s had to be. It’s a hell of a lot easier to do that when you can see what’s coming, though; what’s necessary today might be detrimental tomorrow, and what’s useless today can be something Ren wants tomorrow, however inexplicably. It feels like he’s sitting in an airlock, unsure of how he’d gotten there, of which door is which, and which is about to open. 

A longer-than-strict-protocol wash in the refresher does nothing; neither does his evening cup of caf, the routine of budget spreadsheets on the datapad nothing but bland numbers, a slow background beat to the course of chaos in his mind. His tongue is heavy, but he forces his report through his mouth as Ren undresses on the other side of the room and then makes his way over to sit on the end of the bed beside Hux. He says nothing, barely pausing in his motions, until Hux reaches the end.

“General Risohn hasn’t had anything of note to report from the mid-rim in over a standard month,” Hux says. 

“What are you suggesting?” says Ren.

“It seems unlikely,” says Hux. “If we could spare the resources to send someone out there to corroborate, make sure she’s not wasting time, then we ought to.”

“Unlikely, but hardly impossible,” says Ren. “She’s not competent enough to carry out any sort of serious sabotage.”

“That’s not the point,” says Hux, although he would gladly dispute Ren on that. “Even if she were to fail, she could implant her ideas--bring others to her side--and even if she’s doing nothing actively malicious, if she’s doing nothing it’s a waste and a bad example.”

“We can afford it,” says Ren.”

Hux grits his teeth. He does not want to repeat himself; he will not be trapped to exhaustion in a circular argument. “What is your plan?”

“Stomp out the Resistance, and the Jedi. Lead the Galaxy into a new age. Conquer on all fronts.”

Hux lets his annoyance show through, eases back on the caution in his thoughts, thinks intently of himself, of the other officials’ ever-growing disgust and distaste for him, images that had haunted his early childhood of the imperials saying that if Tarkin and Vader were still around he’d be shot out the airlock, have his windpipe crushed with the Force, his face carved up with a vibroblade, if he were even afforded that much. He does not peel back the layers on his fear, only the ideas that won’t sink beneath the surface. Is this how the Force works? Does Ren even know, or is it all just guesswork?

Ren leans forward, the perfectly-pressed bedsheet crinkling under his hand (and that, Hux has to consciously and intentionally wince at now; he doesn’t, though he files away the annoyance just the same). 

“Not that,” Ren says.

His tone is as even as it ever gets, his eyes opaque, staring both at Hux and past him. There is a scar on his finger, where it bends under his hand on the bed. Hux has noticed it before, but he sees it now again. 

Were this a few standard months ago--a lifetime ago, when they were still building Starkiller, when the path forward had seemed so clear and so spotless, Hux would have allowed his rage at Ren to simmer, to hiss just loudly enough for Ren to hear. How can you not know and still trust the future? How can you take vague outlines and obvious goals and march ahead? Ren’s not overconfident, not in that way. And yet, perhaps Hux is just too tired to deal with the future, too sick of designing meticulous plans only for them to be crushed and bent irreparably, because he doesn’t need to probe further. 

This is enough, for now.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to hmu on twitter (@lemaireality) or tumblr (@stephanericherthanyou)
> 
> thanks for reading


End file.
